


Home For Christmas

by Tarlan



Category: The Runaways (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-27
Updated: 2006-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark was working the streets when McKay first found him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains mentions of physical and sexual abuse towards children but it is a necessary part of the story as it deals with Runaways and Street kids.

It was cold tonight with the October wind howling off the Pacific and cutting through the flimsy T-shirt he wore. Mark slapped his hands around his sides and hugged himself tightly. He stamped his sneakered feet as he gazed up and down the stretch of road he had positioned himself on this night. With luck he'd have a client soon and then he could warm up in their hotel room. Hell, even the back seat of their car would be better than nothing.

He wished he had pulled on his jacket but his pimp had slapped him when he caught him bundled up last night. He was right though. How was anyone supposed to see the goods if they were hidden beneath layers of clothing?

He reached up and swept back a lock of golden hair that had fallen over his forehead, and tried not to let his teeth chatter together when he saw a car slow down in passing. It stopped; the driver winding down the window. Mark hurried across and bent down so he was at eye level with the driver.

"Looking for some fun?"

The man looked him over; frowning as he stared at Mark's youthful looks. "You old enough to be out here, kid?"

"I'm old enough."

"What kind of fun?"

"You tell me. What are you looking for?"

"Depends on your asking price."

"Twenty for giving head or using my hand, forty if you want me to take you, sixty if you want to take me."

"Sounds a lot for a scrawny kid."

"Take it or leave it."

The man tightened his lips then sighed. "Get in."

Mark grinned and raced round to the other side of the car. He jumped into the passenger seat and held his hands in the warm current of air coming from the heater. The car pulled away from the kerb and Mark glanced sideways at the man he had agreed to have sex with--for a price. He wasn't a bad looker for a change and Mark wondered why the man felt he had to pay for services at all. Then he reminded himself that he was only 15 years old--but he looked younger--and there were many men who liked the idea of having sex with young boys.

"What's your name?"

The man had sensed his scrutiny and was letting his eyes slide from the road to check Mark out from time to time. He seemed the nice type. That is, he didn't give off any bad vibes and he seemed genuinely interested in talking so Mark answered him.

"Name's Mark."

"How long have you been working the streets?"

"Long enough."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, why? Why aren't you at home doing your schoolwork? Or out playing baseball with friends?"

"Look, if you're not interested then you can stop the car and let me out. Be another client along soon enough."

The man fell quiet and Mark could see that he was uneasy with having Mark in his car and thought that, maybe this client was having second thoughts about going with someone who was so young looking. When the man spoke again, the words were not those Mark expected. He was expecting him to say he had made a mistake, and Mark was getting ready to insist on the man paying him at least ten bucks for the wasted time.

"You heard of another boy; couple of years younger than you. Name of Jason Hardy?"

Mark gave a sour grin. Instead of being too young, it appeared he might be too old for this guy. Mark followed the instructions beaten into him by his pimp for when someone asked for younger boys.

"No. You only interested in small kids? If that's your thing then try _The Nest_."

" _The Nest_?"

"That's where the kids are farmed out."

"Kids? Why aren't you there? You're just a kid too."

"I'm fifteen. Too old for _The Nest_."

Mark bit into his lower lip when he realized he had told the man his true age, but he'd been a little annoyed at being considered too old before he even reached the legal age of consent in this State. Mark frowned as the man passed over a picture of a smiling young boy. The kid looked to be only about ten or eleven years old and Mark thought he recognized him as the one who was taken into _The Nest_ earlier this evening after his pimp spotted him getting off a bus at the terminal. He shuddered as he thought of any man wanting such a small kid. Suddenly, Mark saw beyond the boy's face to the scene behind. The picture had not been taken out on the streets by some lust-crazed John. It looked like one of those family portraits that kind and caring parents took of their kids.

"Who are you? You a cop? Stop the car." The man kept on driving. "Where are we going?"

"Police station."

"What?"

"I used to be a cop, and my job was to bring in runaways."

"Stop the car." Mark grabbed the door handle and began to rattle it, concerned when it wouldn't budge.

"Wait, kid. Just hear me out. If things are rough at home then let the Social Services help you. There are better options than living on the street selling yourself to any man willing to pay you a few bucks."

"Been there, done that. Least when they fuck me out here I get paid."

The man's lips narrowed. Mark was too caught up in his own fear to care whether that anger was aimed at him or at those who were supposed to protect him but had abused him instead. He shoved hard against the passenger door and then quickly wound down the window. The driver reached across; grabbing the waistband of his jeans as Mark tried to crawl through the open window.

They both swore profusely, caught in a stalemate with Mark hanging outside the still moving car, held back only by the hand that had snared his pants. The car curved sharply to the kerb side, braking hard, and the man dragged Mark back inside the car.

"Stupid. Real stupid. Do you want to get yourself killed...pulling a stunt like that?"

Mark continued to struggle, and he threw a punch; his fist glancing off the man's cheekbone. The man captured both of Mark's hands and held them in a grip of iron. Mark threw his head forward; trying to butt his captor but the man pulled back just in time, yanking Mark forward and crushing his face into the driver seat's upholstery. The man pressed the weight of his upper body down on Mark, preventing him from making any move.

"I'm not going back to the Teesdale." His yell was muffled by the upholstery and he bucked up, trying to dislodge the man.

"Now hold it. Just hold it."

Mark cried out as the man forced more of his weight down onto Mark's back. He managed to free one of his hands and he flailed wildly before the man re-captured it and pulled it up behind Mark's back in a half-nelson. He bit down on a cry of pain as muscle and bone twinged at the unnatural position, and then he sagged down, submitting to the greater strength.

"You finished struggling?"

Mark nodded; teeth gritted against the pain. He gasped when the man released him and sprang back upright, rubbing his abused biceps. He could feel his lips trembling; could feel the sting of tears in his eyes and felt dismay when a couple spilled over to trickle down his cheeks.

"Didn't mean to hurt you... but I couldn't let you hurt me either."

Mark forced himself up against the passenger door; moving as far away from the man as possible.

"Look. My name's David McKay, and Jason Hardy's parents hired to me to find their son. How about we cut a deal? You show me where _The Nest_ is, and I'll help you get placed somewhere other than Teesdale."

"Told you before, I'm fifteen. I wasn't born yesterday. Only other place they'll send me is Juvie Hall cos I've run away too many times already."

"Jason had a silly argument with his Dad over doing some chores around the house. That was two days ago. His parents love him--"

"Yeah, sure."

"--and they want him home. He's probably scared right now, wondering what's going to happen to him--"

"Why should I care--"

"I saw your face when you looked at the photo. That wasn't jealousy; it was disgust." The man sat back, running a hand through his dark, curly hair. "Help him, Mark."

Mark chewed on his bottom lip. If it got out that he'd given the address away without letting his pimp checked McKay out first then he was likely to get dragged into an alleyway and beaten. However, if McKay was right and Jason Hardy did have good parents out there then he could give Jason back something that he had never had: a loving home. He felt the sour taste of bitterness in his mouth as he offered information that would allow Jason Hardy to regain what Mark could only dream about.

"1412 South Drive. They won't farm him out on his first night."

McKay put the car back in gear and pulled away from the kerb. However, he headed away from the address Mark had given, which meant only one thing; the man was still taking him to the police precinct. Mark knew it would be useless to try and make his escape so soon after the last attempt so he decided to bide his time. A few minutes later they arrived outside and McKay got out. Mark noticed how the driver's door opened with ease. He waited until McKay was at the passenger door and then he lunged across the seats. His hand flicked the handle. Mark rolled out of the car onto his feet and then he was running. He could hear McKay's shout of surprise and annoyance, and he could hear the pounding feet on the pavement behind him but Mark had always been a fast runner. He quickly outpaced the man and he ducked into alleyways and side streets as he weaved his way back towards the seedy part of town that he now called home.

****

Mark bit into his lower lip, teasing it between strong teeth as he watched the dozens of police and Social Services vehicles that lit up the street like a discotheque with their blue, red and white flashing lights. From his concealed position in a nearby alleyway, he watched David McKay enter the building and come out fifteen minutes later holding a boy wrapped in a blanket. The kid had his face pressed into McKay's neck but Mark knew it was Jason Hardy. He gave a ragged sigh, hoping he had been right and that they had not used the boy on this first night. Also, he hoped he had done the right thing by telling the ex-cop where they were holding the boy.

Mark backed into the deeper shadows when McKay paused by the driver's side of his car and scanned the surrounding area before climbing inside. He wondered if the man suspected he had come to watch the show, and was looking for him. However, McKay drove off without a backward glance, and Mark edged through the rear of the alley and headed back to his second street choice.

Less than an hour later he was on his hands and knees earning enough to keep his pimp happy for one more night.

****

Word was buzzing around the streets next evening that the Vice Squad had busted into _The Nest_. The Social Services had taken away all the young kids and the Cops had arrested all the adults--pimps and Johns alike. Mark grimaced when he realized his pimp was among them. Even though Trevor got out on bail within a few hours, he was in a rage and he was turning the streets over as he looked for the person who had grassed up his operation.

Mark knew Trevor cared little for the small boys beyond the sums of money he could get from selling their pre-adolescent bodies to depraved men. Once they had outgrown _The Nest_ then Trevor sent them out onto the street to earn their living for him there. Trevor could replace the kids with relative ease for dozens of runaways arrived in the city every month; lured here by the fake promises of Tinsel town just as he had been

He paused to remember his first day in LA and how he had timidly stepped off the bus with his eyes wide in amazement as he watched the sea of faces. He had gone only a few steps beyond the terminus before meeting Trevor and, with a child's naiveté, he had been relieved by the offer of a place to stay and food to eat. However, everything came with a price and, two months later, he had become very proficient in this trade. Certainly, he had never had any complaints from his clients with many of them seeking him out time and time again.

Mark squirmed slightly as leaned against the doorway that was sheltering him from the biting wind. The cold wind had kept most of the Johns at home. Last night's only customer had been a little too enthusiastic, and his ass was still burning from the rough penetration. He decided to try and persuade tonight's clients to accept hand or oral relief, knowing that the ache would ease off if he gave his ass a break.

A car crawled past with the driver's beady eyes studying the flesh on display like a man moving along the line at a butcher's store. Mark felt the eyes reach him and felt them latch, greedily, onto his slender frame and blond hair. He gave the man a welcoming smile that would never reach his eyes and sauntered over as the man beckoned him with a slight nod of his head.

The driver wound down the window and Mark tried not to feel disgusted at the cadaver-thin, pock-marked face with hawk nose, beady black eyes and a slash for a mouth. Dark hair, swept back with too much grease, fell to the man's shoulders. Mark went into his spiel.

"Looking for some fun?"

"Turn around."

Mark turned and let the man visually examine his rear.

"How much for that pretty ass?"

"Sixty. Or I'll do you for Forty."

"Sixty?"

"Hand or mouth will only set you back twenty. And I'm good at what I do. Can show you a good time."

"Sixty." The man pulled a face as he internally weighed up if Mark was worth the asking price. Apparently, he was. "Okay, get in."

Mark grimaced. So much for giving his ass a break. He'd just have to grit his teeth when the time came and bear the pain as well as he could. His client parked outside a surprisingly upper-class apartment block and Mark followed him inside. The security guard looked uptight, probably concerned at seeing such a young looking prostitute entering his building but he said nothing. Mark followed the weasel-looking man into the elevator and leaned back against the wall as the car climbed to the ninth floor. He was uneasy. Usually his clients couldn't keep their hands off him, wanting to feel him at every convenient moment to increase their excitement but the man had not even bothered to look at him once since striking the deal.

The apartment was little more than a few small rooms but they were expensively furnished and Mark could hear canned laughter coming from a large television situated in the corner of the main room. The man nodded towards that room and then he turned and walked away, closing the apartment door behind him. Mark stepped forward, aware that he was about to meet his real client, and he plastered a false smile on his face.

The man was overweight. He was slumped into a heap in the corner of a vinyl couch with the remnants of various TV snacks scattered around him. The piggish eyes glanced away from the television screen for a moment as he appraised Mark, his rheumy blue eyes widening slightly, fat lips parting in appreciation as he licked them.

"Take it all off."

Mark grabbed the hem of his tight T-shirt in both hands and hauled it over his head, dropping the white cloth onto the table standing next to the wall beside him. He kicked off his sneakers and slowly unzipped his jeans. When he looked up he expected to see the man watching him avidly but instead, the man roared with laughter at something on the screen. His eyes flicked back to Mark, narrowing when he noticed Mark had stopped stripping. Mark took the hint and began to wriggle out of the denim, stepping out of the pooled material and kicking it aside. He wore nothing beneath the jeans and he watched as the man showed interest at last, seeing a nod of approval as those piggy eyes roved over his genitals and hairless, adolescent chest.

"Play with yourself."

So he was one of those. The kind that got excited watching him masturbate and then took their pleasure. Mark gave a silent sigh of thanks that he had greased himself earlier as these men were the kind to get all worked up, grab him and fuck him blindly without considering the damage or pain they could inflict. Still, it made sense to give himself some extra preparation so he let one hand wrap around his still flaccid shaft while the fingers of his other hand began to loosen up his body. It didn't take long for him to get hard and he moaned softly as he felt the first tingle of impending orgasm race along his nerves. With the television forgotten, the man gazed avidly at Mark, thick tongue licking over those fat lips as he drooled his pleasure.

"Slow down."

Mark eased back; his hand pumping the shaft but staying clear of the sensitive head. The other fingers remained busy; deeply embedded in his ass as he opened himself up. With great difficulty, the obese man clawed his way off the couch and dragged down white boxers. Mark could not see the man's penis beneath the rolls of fat but the man's chubby fingers had found it and were working it in time to Mark's hand. Suddenly, the man lunged forward and spun Mark around. He forced him over the table with those fat fingers digging into Mark as they prised his ass cheeks apart. Mark cried out as the thick rod entered him in one brutal thrust, but caught the next sobs in his throat as the man began a relentless pounding that only ended when the man froze before jabbing at him wildly. He felt the liquid heat of the man's seed filling him, screwed his eyes tight as that thick tongue laved his neck and the man grunted like a pig into Mark's ear. The John collapsed upon him, and Mark gasped at the weight on his back, crushing his genitals against the edge of the table.

He was so relieved when the man pushed away and he took a moment or two to gather his senses, reminding himself that it wasn't always like this, that sometimes it was pleasurable for them both. When he stood up and turned around, the man had fallen back onto the couch and was engrossed in the television once more. Mark reached for his clothes.

"Did I tell you to get dressed?"

He dropped the shirt back down and forced a smile.

"I don't charge by the hour."

"Don't worry." The man played with his now flaccid penis. "I got enough to keep you here all night if necessary. When I'm ready I want you to blow me. Until then, why don't you go clean up and then you can sit there until I'm ready... legs apart so I can get a good look at you whenever I want."

Mark looked at the hard seat of the utilitarian chair and realized he was in for an uncomfortable night. But at least he'd be warm, if nothing else.

****

Almost half an hour passed before the man spread his legs and beckoned Mark over. He sank to his knees in front of the couch and reached beneath the fold of fat for the limp cock. A forceful hand pressing down on his head told him what the man expected of him and Mark buried his face into his client's smelly groin. He licked on the bulbous head, tongue teasing against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the tip; trying to elicit some response from the flaccid shaft, and was rewarded as it slowly hardened. Mark could taste the bitterness of the man's come and the grease he had used in his ass but, beneath that, was another more earthy taste that probably had to be from him too.

Mark opened his mouth wider to suck in the whole of the head; closing his eyes and ears to the sight and sounds of this almost obscene looking man. If he tried hard enough then he would be able to escape into a world where the person he was blowing was someone special rather than his obese man who had paid for him this evening.

A sudden crash had the man jumping up, his flesh wobbling. Mark clamped his teeth shut in surprise, and the man screamed. Seconds later he could hear raised voices and then he was being dragged aside as three straining cops dragged the fat man to his feet and handcuffed him.

Mark's arms were drawn back and cuffs secured around his wrists before the cop pulled him to his feet and spun him around. He found himself staring straight into the face of a plain-clothed detective. The man frowned back at him in shock and disgust.

"Fuck. He's just a kid. What are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?" The grimace melted to one of glee as he turned a now triumphant grin onto his partner. "Looks like we got Fat Harry for more than just money laundering. Let's add Statutory Rape to the list of charges."

****

It was warm at the Precinct and Mark slouched down in the hard seat Detective Reynolds had pushed him into. They had handcuffed Fat Harry to a desk a few feet away and, beside him, Reynolds was typing up the arrest report. He glared across at Mark from time to time but there was nothing more Mark could do except keep on denying that he was underage. He had given Detective Matthews the false name and details Trevor had given to him for just such an instance like this but Matthews merely sighed and carried on pressing for the truth.

A female officer marched up to the desk and smiled at Mark, nodding her head slowly--and knowingly--as she handed a sheath of papers to Matthews. Mark had a bad feeling about this and licked suddenly dry lips as Matthews eyebrows rose. The dark-skinned man looked directly into Mark's face and then back down at the papers. He leaned back in his chair; head tilted with one eyebrow raised.

"Mark Johnson. Age fifteen. Ward of the State of Alabama. Missing since August." He glanced over his shoulder and waved the papers. "Hey, Reynolds. Statutory Rape it is."

"He's a fucking prostitute. I didn't know he was a kid--"

"You said the same thing about that thirteen-year-old we caught you with six months back."

"Matthews." The dark man turned to the where a uniformed officer stood poised on the threshold of the open plan office that housed most of the precinct's Fraud squad. "Police Surgeon just arrived."

"That's our cue, son."

The Detective rose to his feet and hauled Mark up after him. He kept a tight grip on Mark's arm as he led him through the maze of desks, out of the office and up a flight of stairs to a small medical room. Inside, a man was pulling various instruments from a case; his face serious as he turned towards Mark.

"How old is he?"

"Under sixteen."

"Then you ought to know better. I need his legal guardian to be present for this examination."

"Legal guardian is the State of Alabama."

"Then I need someone appointed by the Court to act as a temporary guardian, just in case he needs immediate medical attention."

Reynolds gave a sigh of exasperation before he stuck his head out the door and called to a uniformed officer who was passing by.

"De Gueirro, need you to baby-sit while I make a call."

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened again and Reynolds stepped in, followed by another man. Mark felt his heart sink into his stomach as he recognized the man as the one he had escaped from only a day earlier. The look on the man's face told Mark that he recognized him in return.

"I'm Doctor David McKay, child psychologist." He held out a document. "Judge Williams has appointed me the temporary guardian of Mark Johnson."

The Police Surgeon read through the document and smiled. "Then let's get on with it." He indicated to the police officer to remove the handcuffs from his patient. Once Mark was free, the surgeon turned back to him. "Okay, son. I'd like you to remove all your clothing and leave them on the plastic sheet."

Mark stared hard at the men watching him. He had grown use to stripping in front of others but not in such a sterile environment for the purpose of being examined; at least not for many years. It reminded him of the impersonal health checks performed at the orphanage.

"No."

McKay stepped forward. "You don't have a choice, Mark. But I promise I won't let anyone here take advantage of you." McKay turned. "In fact, I don't believe Officer De Gueirro's presence is required."

De Gueirro nodded and then he left the room.

"Better?"

Mark chewed on his lower lip, nervously, then noticed his childlike habit and stopped. Reynolds had moved to the far corner, his dark eyes averted though Mark suspected he was still paying attention to what was going on. The Police Surgeon had gone back to digging out various instruments from his case, some of them so strange that Mark could not even imagine what they might be used for. Resigned to his fate, he stripped off the T-shirt and dropped it onto the plastic sheet. Then he pushed off his sneakers and wriggled out of his jeans. For the first time in months, he stood naked in front of a man and felt extremely vulnerable; his hands dropping before him to conceal his genitals. Mark looked away, with his eyes scanning the room; refusing to dwell on the men who were watching him with such clinical detachment.

"Need you to climb on the bench, on your knees and put your forearms on the bench, and your head on your forearms." He did as he was told. "Spread your legs wider. Good. That's it."

After two months spent in variations of this position, Mark found he could let his mind drift away from what was happening, but he flinched when he felt the probing finger against the abused muscle. He clenched his teeth when he felt the intrusion of a cold metal object, eyes squeezed shut from the burning pain when the Surgeon did something to make the instrument's jaws widen. He chanced a glimpse and saw long sticks--like extra large cotton buds--laid out on a steel dish. The Surgeon picked one of them up. Mark felt it scraping inside him and then saw the soiled bud placed into a plastic bag and sealed. One of them came out very slightly bloodied and he heard the two doctors murmuring above him.

Mark jolted when the Surgeon placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Need you to turn over and sit at the edge of the bench."

Mark turned away when the Surgeon held his flaccid penis and inserted a finer version of those buds into the small hole. It hurt and he was grateful when that ordeal was over.

"Okay. You're doing fine, Mark. Just one more set of swabs." The Surgeon turned away. "I do take it that you haven't given him anything to eat or drink since the assault?" Whatever action Reynolds made seemed to placate the Surgeon for he turned back to Mark. "Need you to open your mouth wide."

It took a lot of effort not to gag as the blunt swab was swept across the back of his throat, even though he thought he had gained good control of his gag reflex over these past months. But the swab was so different from the thick, blunt but spongy head of a penis.

"Last check. I promise, and then you can get dressed. I need you to stand up, legs apart and hold your hands slightly away from your body."

Mark did as the man said and felt a tide of embarrassment flood his face as the Surgeon prodded and probed what felt like every inch of him. He felt the strong fingers on his balls and he coughed as requested. McKay put a hand on his shoulder and held out a drab one piece overall. The Surgeon and McKay walked to the far side of the room for a quick conversation while Mark dressed. Then McKay came back and gave him a friendly smile.

"Okay, Mark. It's all done. I need to take you over to the hospital for some treatment and then we'll find a bed for you and you can get some sleep."

"Why do I need a hospital?"

"You've got a few tears. Nothing too serious, and mostly on the outside... but a course of antibiotics wouldn't go amiss either."

****

Mark woke up in a warm, comfortable bed with bright sunlight filtering through blinds that were not yellowed with age. The bed linen smelled clean and fresh with the material crisp if not a little scratchy against his bare flesh. He had ignored the pajamas folded neatly on top of the bed, preferring to sleep naked, having always hated the way his clothing tangled up while he slept. He had always been a restless sleeper.

He stretched, wincing as his abused muscles protested the action. One ass cheek had a dull ache, reminding him of the injections given to him last night. When McKay mentioned a course of antibiotics, he assumed that meant some pills but instead they had stuck several needles in him including a booster shot for tetanus. He had felt like a pin cushion by the time they finished.

Someone knocked on the door and then came inside without waiting for an invitation. It was McKay and he was smiling warmly.

"You've missed breakfast but they'll be serving lunch in fifteen minutes. Figured you could do with something decent to eat." McKay dropped a pile of clothing onto the end of the bed. "These ought to fit until we can get you some new clothes."

"I've got clothes back in my room. I don't need any hand-outs from you or anybody." Mark snapped defensively at McKay, wanting to ensure McKay knew that he could take of himself and that he didn't need anybody's help or charity.

"O...kay. Let me know the address and I'll get someone to fetch all your belongings."

"What do you mean?"

"You won't be going back there--"

"You can't keep me here, I'll just--"

"You'll just runaway again? Possibly. But not while I'm your legal guardian. You're fifteen-years-old. Just a kid. *Be* a kid, Mark. Have fun, read books, play loud music, go to a soda bar or go and play baseball with other kids your age." McKay sat on the edge of the bed. "Have a life worth living... and if you haven't got any, then make some dreams."

"Easy as that?"

Mark snorted in derision, amazed that someone could get to McKay's age and still believe that there was something truly wonderful about life. All he had ever known was grief and trouble. His mother had been a teenage suicide; bottling out of life when the boy who got her pregnant told her he wanted nothing more to do with her, not even after she showed him his son. His Grandmother had raised him until he was six years old, and then she died and left him alone in the world.

His life since then had been a series of orphanages, foster homes and summer camps. The foster homes had been the worst for they had given him an illusion of having a real home right until the people decided they didn't want him anymore, and discarded him like a played-out toy.

"It can be as easy as that. If you're willing to give it another try."

Mark looked away. How many times had he heard those words, and believed in them? How many times had he been disappointed by those empty promises? No. As bad as it was, he was better off on his own on the streets. At least the only person he had to disappoint there was his pimp.

****

He endured three days at the center, keeping himself aloof and avoiding all the friendly overtures as he did not want to make friends. It would only make the disappointment of being sent back to Teesdale harder to bear, and he had suffered enough of those already. Unfortunately, McKay made it impossible to remain completely detached as he came by every evening to see him, sitting beside him and drawing him into conversations about the past and future.

Mark felt embarrassed now, realizing that he had revealed more about himself than he had ever intended but McKay seemed to have a knack for pulling information out of him. He had even told McKay about how much he used to like biology lessons back in high school, especially when it was about the creatures living in the sea. His Grandmother had come from LA and she had loved the sea. It was his only real memory of her, sitting on her lap while she told him stories about sea serpents, whales and dolphins, and about the glittering shoals of fish she had seen with her own eyes.

McKay had left about an hour ago, and the winter nights were drawing in fast. Mark knew this might be his only chance to get away before they had him sent back to the miserable town where he was born - and to Teesdale where Gideon Block liked to play with the boys he was being paid to protect. He had told McKay about Block but he didn't expect anything to come of it. After all, it was just the word of a kid against an adult.

He used his laces to tie dry wash-cloths to the bottom of his sneakers so they would not squeak as he tiptoed across the parquet-flooring hallway that led to freedom. Keeping to the dark shadows, Mark held his small bundle of new possessions close as he crept down the stairs. He waited for Mrs. Mason to distract the porter, Mr. Jones, with a mug of cocoa, just as she did every night, and then he made his way to the door. It was still unlocked, but that was as expected for Jones locked the door at nine thirty every night, and it was only ten minutes past the hour now. With great care, he slipped through the opening and pulled the door closed behind him, grimacing when it clicked loudly. Then he was running as fast as he could, viciously forcing aside the regret that filled him as he went back to the life he had found on the streets.

****

McKay sighed deeply in exasperation as he listened to Mr. Mason explain what had happened. It put him in an awkward position because he had taken on responsibility as Mark's legal guardian--even if it was just temporary. However, there was more to it than that. McKay was dismayed as he thought he might have been getting through to the boy. The initially taciturn kid had seemed to warm to him, revealing snippets of his past and some of the dreams he had held onto--even through bad times. McKay wanted him to have the chance to make some of those dreams come true but that was never going to happen if Mark went back to working the streets. It was more likely that he would end up in the hospital or morgue before his eighteenth birthday as the victim of some violent client.

McKay sat on the bed Mark had used at the center, recalling the shy smile he had drawn from the boy that had cracked the belligerent shell Mark had built around himself. The kid also possessed a dry wit and intelligence that made it a pleasure for McKay to share time with him, rather than a duty. Strangely enough, McKay realized he was already missing the kid.

With renewed determination that Mark Johnson was not going to become another murdered teenage prostitute statistic, he stood up and told Mason he would be in touch as soon as there was any news. He set off for the Hall of Justice where he used to work, eager to contact old colleagues and press them for information for every instinct told him that Mark would go to his pimp first. After that all bets were off as it was likely Trevor would sell him on to a stable in San Francisco or send him to Las Vegas. McKay couldn't afford to lose the trail if he wanted to salvage Mark.

****

"Trevor?"

A thin-faced man dressed in an expensive leather full-length coat with fur trimming turned and snarled.

"Where the fuck have you been, boy?"

"Got picked up with a client. Spent the last few days in a center for runaways but I... I ran away."

There was something in Trevor's expression that sent a chill through Mark. It was a calculating look as if he knew it was Mark who had betrayed the location of The Nest, but then Trevor smiled. The pleasure did not reach the dark eyes, although it rarely did with Trevor. Mark tried not to freeze up when Trevor placed his arm around him and hugged him close with a gesture of false camaraderie.

"It's good to see you again, Mark."

"You want me to take my usual spot tonight?"

Trevor pursed his lips. "No. Not tonight. I've got something special you can do for me. How would you like to be on film?"

"Film?"

"Not as glamorous as Hollywood but there's a strong industry catering for those with a particular taste for young flesh."

Mark frowned. He should have realized it would be some porn film, and he knew they would expect him to strip in front of the cameras and perform sex acts with others. However, Mark was uncertain if he wanted to be seen by nameless, faceless men masturbating to his image in some grimy theater.

"I'm... I'm not sure."

"It's going to be a one-time offer... and it'll pay good."

Mark thought it over quickly but what did he have to lose? At least he'd be in a warm studio beneath hot lights rather than freezing his ass off on the street. And, depending on how well it paid, maybe he could get a better apartment. Truth was, he couldn't go back to his old place as the Cops knew about it - and so did McKay.

"Okay."

"Good boy. Believe me, you won't live to regret this decision."

Mark treated Trevor to a weak smile but he could not rid himself of the unease that followed this decision. He climbed into the back of Trevor's car and stared out at the passing scenery as they made their way into a part of the city near the ocean that he had never been to before. The crumbling old building filled him with greater trepidation but he followed Trevor, dutifully, ignoring the plaster falling from the walls and the trash filling the stairwell. They made their way up two flights of stairs and paused outside a thick, solid looking door. Trevor rapped on it several times and a slit opened to reveal inquisitive eyes.

"I got the boy."

The eyes crinkled up into a grin and Mark felt the icy fingers on his spine once more as he heard bolts sliding back. The door creaked opened. The room inside was large and almost empty except for a dais covered in sable fur. It was the size of a small bed and Mark had no doubt that this was where they would expect him to perform. Several professional-looking film cameras were arranged around the dais along with half a dozen bright lights with umbrellas reflecting the light onto the one small area. Other on the far side, Mark could see two naked men. Another man was rubbing oil onto their chests and arms to make the muscles gleam when flexed. They turned to stare at Mark and he was surprised to notice that they were not particularly handsome nor well-endowed physically. It didn't make a huge amount of sense but then his attention was taken by another man who approached him with hunger in his eyes. Those pale blue eyes raked over his clothed form and exposed face. A thin hand reached out to touch Mark's hair.

"Want to see the rest."

Trevor turned to Mark. "Well. You heard the man. Get undressed."

With a show of bravado, Mark forced down his unease and stripped off, quietly enduring the scrutiny and then the hands that prodded and poked.

"God, he's beautiful. Perfect. Just perfect. Though a little older than the one you promised. Is he virgin?"

"Uhh...no....but with a face and body like this who'll care?"

"Right. Right." The man nodded eagerly and removed his hand from Mark's genitals. "Get him ready."

It seemed so unreal standing there while someone massaged oil into every inch of his flesh and brushed his hair until it shone. They dressed him in clothes that had been made for someone smaller; clothes that made him look like a young kid, and then they told him what they expected him to do. The only requirement was that he forget the cameras and let the two professionals lead the way. He was to do exactly as they ordered.

The cameras began to roll and, very quickly, Mark forgot them as he was stripped and used by the two men. They positioned him on his back and he felt his first moment of panic when they strapped his wrists above his head leaving him naked and vulnerable. Mark cried out as they pushed back his legs... and then he was roughly penetrated, tears of pain falling from the lack of preparation or care taken. He almost gagged as the other man filled his mouth. The pounding at both ends was relentless but then the man pulled out of his mouth. Mark flinched as thick come splattered over his face and chest but was grateful he'd not had to swallow any this time as he thought he might have choked on it. The pounding in his ass went on with the man alternating the rhythm to make the ordeal last longer. Mark looked up into the man's face and saw something that frightened him. He began to thrash, no longer wanting to be part of this but the man dug his hands harder into Mark's hips to hold him down while his tied wrists prevented him from rolling away.

"Do it now. Now."

The director's voice was think with passion and Mark thought he was referring to the man fucking him but then something came over his head. Mark gasped and fought harder as the clear plastic was held firm around his throat. He looked up, eyes wide with terror, straight into the malevolent eyes of his intended killer. All the time the pounding into his ass went on but Mark didn't care anymore. He was fighting desperately for every breath of air, his lungs tightening as they inhaled uselessly. His vision was darkening with black spots swirling before him. He couldn't even cry out, not even of the heat that splattered across his oxygen-starved body. The man withdrawing only so he could baptize Mark's dying body for the sick men who would gain so much pleasure from watching him die as he was abused.

His last thought as the darkness took him was regret that he would never reach any of his dreams in this life.

****

Trevor's right-hand man shook in terror as Detective Matthews grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up until their noses were almost touching. The large, dark-skinned detective was intimidating enough at the best of times but he treated Rafe to the full force of his wrath.

Behind Matthews, McKay clenched his fists with his mouth a tight line of anger and fear.

"Where? Where does the shoot take place?"

"Out on the old docks. Ain't never been there. Only Trevor... but he gave the address just in case I ever needed it."

With a shaky voice, Rafe gave the address and McKay turned away, his mind already filling with details of the fastest route out there. He clambered into the back of Matthews's car, watching dispassionately as the siren parted the sea of vehicles; his whole attention on the road ahead, and the boy who needed him.

Matthews was on the radio--converging police cars on the address--and, by the time they pulled up in front of the old building there were several cars waiting for them. McKay raced up the two flights of stairs in time to hear the solid door crack open as it was broken down by several policemen with a tool made especially for that task. He plunged into the room, not caring if the people inside were armed or not, and heard the retort as several guns open fired. All of McKay's attention was taken up by the black fur-line dais and the naked young body sprawled across it.

McKay raced across, yelling in disbelief and fear as he spotted the plastic bag covering the blond head. He tore at the plastic, frantic to get it off the boy even though he knew Mark was dead. The blue-tinged lips mocked him as he stroked the still warm face.

Still warm?

McKay started CPR, massaging the heart before forcing air into the boy's lungs. Suddenly Matthews was on the dais straddling the boy and picking up the rhythm of heart massage while McKay concentrated on breathing life back into the still body.

McKay saw it first. The fluttering of long, blond eyelashes. He held up his arm to stop Matthews and placed his cheek close to the boy's mouth while, simultaneously reaching for a pulse point. He screwed his eyes closed in relief and began to laugh and cry at the same time once he felt both warm breath and a weak pulse. Matthews slapped him hard on the back before reaching for the straps that kept Mark secured and, once Mark was free, McKay pulled the boy into his arms, heedless of the stickiness of spent come that covered his body.

He felt Mark stir against his chest and pulled back slightly so Mark would know who was holding him... so Mark would know he was safe. And then he whispered words of reassurance even as his voice cracked with his own raging emotions.

****

Mark hissed as he pulled himself up in the hospital bed. His chest was aching from where three ribs cracked while they fought to resuscitate him, but that was better than being dead. He could not recall much after the plastic bag went over his head--except for the fear. Only impressions came to him; of McKay holding him tightly, stroking his hair and telling him he was going to be all right.

McKay had been to see him every day, sometimes staying for hours just holding his hand and letting him know he was not alone. Mark had expected angry words, having run out on the man twice now, but McKay seemed unconcerned with any of that. It was almost as if he was pleased to see him--treating him like he was a prodigal son returned.

There was a knock on the door and McKay stuck his head round and grinned.

"Up for another visit?"

"Sure."

Mark watched as McKay dropped into the seat beside him but he could tell by the hard set of his lips that he had something difficult but important to say. He waited for McKay to start - fearing the worst - that they were going to send him back to Teesdale or to Juvie Hall. Sure enough, McKay started to talk about Teesdale but then Mark realised what the man was saying.

"They arrested Mr. Block?"

"Yes. I informed the local sheriff of your allegations and he set up a watch. They caught the man in the act and kept surveillance records of infringements by other members of staff. A temporary supervisor has been appointed--a woman."

"So you're gonna send me back now."

"Perhaps." Mark frowned as McKay appraised him silently for a moment before continuing. "There is one other option. You could go before the Judge and ask him to make me your permanent guardian."

Mark's eyes widened in shock.

"You... you want me... to stay with you?"

"Before you make any decision, you have to be aware of the facts. If I'm made your permanent guardian then you'll have to obey my rules until that guardianship ends. That's when you turn eighteen."

Mark tilted in head in query and McKay gave a small smile.

"First rule. You go back to high school and you work hard to catch up. You're a clever kid, Mark, and I can arrange some extra tuition to help."

"Second rule. Unless you do it earlier, seven until nine each evening is set aside as homework time. I'll expect to see you studying. Ten-thirty is bedtime so you're not too wasted for school the next day."

"Third rule. You help with chores around our house and you keep your room as tidy as humanly possible for a kid your age."

McKay had a wry grin as he stated that rule but the edges of his mouth twitched as he went on.

"Fourth rule. You'll be expected to play baseball, or catch footballs, or go swimming and go on rides at the fairground with me. And you'll enjoy yourself with these simple pleasures. And lastly. Twice a week you'll be expected to go out jogging with me as punishment for making me chase after you not once but twice since we met."

McKay grinned. "I know, payback's a bitch." His expression grew serious once more. "I don't need an answer right away, Mark, and you don't have to rush into anything as I'm not going to change my mind and withdraw the offer."

McKay started to rise, deciding he would leave to give Mark a chance to think things through but Mark realized that he didn't need any extra time. This man had shown him more caring than anyone had since his grandmother. For the first time in a long while, Mark felt warm and protected, knowing that this man would never hurt him intentionally, and would never use or abuse him.

"Don't need time to think it through. The answer's yes... I'd like you to be my permanent guardian."

McKay grinned, nodding his head happiness.

"Then, as soon as you're up on your feet, we'll start the ball rolling."

****

 **Epilogue:**

Christmas Day was looming but still there had been no word back from the court to say whether they had approved his application for guardianship. McKay knew from experience--through his work--that the process could take up to eight weeks but had hoped that Mark's lack of blood relations would make the whole thing go smoother. What he had not figured on was the in-depth searches on himself holding up the process.

In hindsight, it had to come across as a little suspicious for a thirty-eight year old bachelor requesting permanent access to a fifteen year old boy who had spent the past few months of his life as a prostitute. It took time to convince the court that his intentions were honorable and that he would be treating Mark as the son he would never have otherwise.

The social services checked out every aspect of his home and working life. They interviewed his friends, neighbors and work colleagues. They dug up his medical and financial records but McKay had nothing to hide and remained calm and helpful even though the interminable wait was starting to get at him.

Over these eight weeks Mark had settled in so well. They had emptied the spare room that overlooked the ocean and, between them, they had filled it with all the things a fifteen-year-old boy should want. McKay had enrolled Mark in a nearby school; using his friendship with the principal to ensure they gave Mark every opportunity to find his feet and make friends without the stigma of his recent past hanging over him.

His initial fear at having Mark around constantly quickly melted away, and together they discovered the fun of sharing a joke, of playing catch, of running along the beach side-by-side or just sitting quietly while occupied in their own tasks.

Of course, not all of it had been so easy and simple. They had clashed several times over small issues or general misunderstandings but, fortunately, McKay had been able to allay Mark's fears that this meant he no longer wanted him. It made McKay realize how tough it had been for Mark on the few occasions when they had placed him with foster parents. Mark's deep rooted fear that McKay would simply hand him back because they had disagreed caused many a problem in those first few weeks. On top of this, the boy still woke up screaming from nightmares associated with his near-death experience.

All McKay could do at those times was hold Mark tightly and offer him soft reassurances that the ordeal was over--and that he was safe and alive.

McKay could sympathize with those nightmares. He had experienced several of his own where he had not reached Mark in time. He would look down on the vulnerable boy and see those blue-tinged lips parted in death. Often he would rip away the plastic and try to give Mark life-giving air but to no avail and McKay would wake up sobbing his grief. More frequently, as the weeks progressed, Mark's unstaring eyes would suddenly focus on him as faceless people dragged the boy away--and those eyes would be haunted with betrayal and accusation.

There were only three days until Christmas and McKay came downstairs to find Mark munching his away through a stack of toast. McKay snagged a piece from his plate. He grinned at the resigned expression. At least both of them had slept well last night with no nightmares that he could recall. He sat down opposite Mark and watched his expression as he, in turn, watched the small television on the counter nearby. There was a longing on the boy's face that McKay could not understand until he glanced at the screen and saw the Christmas adverts. McKay looked around their home and realized he had been so caught up in legal issues that he had let Christmas creep up with barely any recognition.

McKay bit his lip in shock. It had been a long time since he bothered to hang decorations or get a tree, mainly as there had not been anyone to see them--other than himself--since his last girlfriend moved out. He made a decision.

"We'd best go out and get a tree before they all go."

The light that came shining from the bright green eyes told McKay he had said the right thing and, an hour later, they were hunting around looking for the perfect tree. They laughed as they tried to force their selection into the trunk of the car, finally having to use rope to lash the tree to the roof of the car. A quick stop at a store next to the tree lot provided plenty of ornaments, tree lights and tinsel and, after another stop to gather up some festive treats, they made their way home.

The radio played festive songs and carols while they set up the tree in the main room, and McKay had to stop often to enjoy the sight of Mark finding so much pleasure in the simple act of decorating a tree. The lights worked first time--which was a shock to McKay--and they stood back to admire the full effect.

A ring on the door bell called their attention and McKay frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone so he opened the door cautiously.

"Can I help you?"

"Special Delivery for Dr. David McKay."

McKay took the envelope and signed for it. He stared at it for a moment, seeing the logo in the corner that told him it was from the court. With trembling hands he opened the letter, his lips becoming a tight line as he read the enclosed paper. The results of all the interviews and assessments were now available to the Judge and so the court had set a final hearing for eleven o'clock on Christmas Eve.

****

McKay sighed as he heard the sounds of Mark moving around in the kitchen. After more than eight weeks, he could not imagine the house without Mark's presence but every passing day renewed his fear that they would not find him worthy enough to be his father and would take the boy away.

He gritted his teeth and pushed up from the bed, quickly showering and dressing before going downstairs. It was Christmas Eve and he was not going to let his fears spoil what might be their last few hours together for, if the court ruled against him, then Mark would be made a ward of court immediately.

Neither of them had much of an appetite and, every time Mark looked up, McKay could see the fear and sadness in the boy's face. At ten o'clock, Mark picked up the small suitcase he had left standing by the door. It contained a few essentials that he might need if the application for guardianship failed.

As he stood by the door, gazing around the house that had become his home over these past weeks, Mark looked so small and vulnerable. McKay reached out and placed his hands on Mark's shoulders.

"It'll be all right. You'll see."

"What if they decide against you?"

"Then I'll appeal, and I'll keep on appealing until they listen. I **can** be very appealing you know."

Mark tried to force a smile at the lame joke but eventually gave up trying and together they climbed into the car and drove to the courthouse. At eleven o'clock exactly, they were standing before the Judge. The man was pursing his lips as he pored through the pile of paperwork placed in front of him, and then he looked directly at Mark with a kindly though stern expression.

"Mark. You've been staying with Dr. McKay for the past 45 days. Do you still want Dr. McKay to be your permanent guardian?"

Mark looked at McKay; his green eyes wide with confusion. He looked back at the Judge.

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmm... in that case..." The Judge rapped his gavel on the wood. "Application agreed. Congratulations Mr. Johnson and Dr. McKay."

McKay flung his arms around Mark and held him tight. It was over. Keeping one arm around his new ward... his son... McKay shook hands with the court officials, friends and well wishers who had come to stand by them. Then he reached down and picked up the small suitcase. He looked Mark directly in the face and felt tears well up as he heard Mark's soft voice.

"This is the best Christmas present I ever had."

He hugged Mark tightly, knowing the same was true for him.

"Let's go home... and not just for Christmas."

THE END


End file.
